Once a week, Daily Intel takes a peek behind doors left slightly ajar. This week, the Aging Professor Struggling With His Youthful Girlfriend’s Sex Drive: male, 40 years old, professor, Lower East Side, in a relationship, straight.
6:05 a.m: Only six o’clock in the morning and my woman is horny. I’m split between annoyance and delight. Delight wins and I lay back to enjoy her riding me.
2:20 p.m: I rarely think of sex when I’m working, but today is warm and the students exiting their finals are sparsely clothed. In her 30s, my girlfriend has a better body than most 20-year-olds. This makes me proud. Then I wonder how many of the boys would match her energy levels better than I do. Pride disappears.
6:40 p.m: She’s out, but has left me a note saying there’s salmon sashimi in the fridge.
9:20 p.m: I might as well get some sleep now that she isn’t here.
Midnight: She gets into bed next to me, whispering my name and asking if I am awake. When I don’t answer she silently starts masturbating. I pretend to be asleep and soon I am.
6:07 a.m: The resident nymphomaniac initiates morning sex. Despite lack of sleep I like the habit.
6:30 a.m: Home from work and my woman is cooking. She’s hot, fun, a spectacular lover, and a great cook. I have hit the jackpot and would have proposed hadn’t I known she’d say no. She often says she doesn’t believe in forever, only in here and now.
8:15 p.m: Cuddling on the couch and watching a movie. She is rubbing my belly when Russell Crowe shows up onscreen. Incapable of understanding that not all people regard exercise as fun, she exclaims he’s become fat.
8:22 p.m: She’s still making fun of Russell Crowe, and her hand on my belly feels heavy. I’ve put on weight lately. I hurt myself a while back and had to stop running.
8:40 p.m: I make myself a promise I’ll go to the gym tomorrow. I used to look like Russell Crowe circa Gladiator. I now look like Russell Crowe circa State of Play. I wonder if she has noticed.
10:25 p.m: She is undressing when I tell her I don’t want sex tonight, just to cuddle. She looks at me incredulously. I remind her we had sex this morning. She replies, “That’s a long time ago!” I say I am too tired and she puffs that I should go to bed then.
11 p.m: She comes to bed. I don’t ask how she spent the last 30 minutes. We fall asleep spooning.
7:07 a.m: Morning rises without morning sex and I wonder if she has overslept.
10:20 a.m: Gym resolve dissolves when a friend calls to say he is in town. I text my woman to tell her. She responds telling me to enjoy, she’ll catch a play and we can meet after.
6:15 p.m: Minutes after meeting, my friend is complaining his wife never wants to have sex. I consider complaining mine wants it all the time. Instead I say we’re very much in love.
7:40 p.m.: We’re now talking openly about our sex lives. Read: I am gloating. “Don’t make her pregnant. Pregnancy is the end of sex,” he advises. No problem. Neither of us wants kids.
10 p.m: We’re both drunk and he is flirting with every woman in the bar. I observe while thinking if I ever again were to have sex with another woman it would be a disappointment.
11:20 p.m: My honey stops by, laughs when she sees the state we’re in, kisses us both and says she’ll leave us to our drinks. I suggest calling it a night, and luckily my friend agrees.
11:55 p.m: Drunk sex. I haven’t had too much to get it up, but I have had too much to get off.
3:30 a.m: Her fingers squeeze my penis and I wake up. She is asleep, and I carefully loosen her grip. Despite being awfully tired, I find going back to sleep difficult.
6:15 a.m: She licks me awake. I’m hung-over, but as long as she is the active party, all right.
6:30 a.m: BJ has led to intercourse. She’s on top and she is amazing.
7:03 a.m: Missionary style. I am breathing heavy and realize I am in worse shape than I thought. The thought makes it impossible for me to come.
7:10 a.m: Then again she has come enough for both of us. I climb off her.
9:15 a.m: Sometimes I think working is more relaxing than being at home.
8:30 p.m: Girlfriend is out with girlfriends and I am watching TV with beer and potato chips. I feel guilty about not yet having been to the gym, but I enjoy the beer and chips.
2:03 a.m: I wake up on the couch. The TV is off and the bag of chips has mysteriously disappeared. I wonder why she didn’t wake me up.
2:05 a.m: Stagger into the bathroom. In the mirror I can see that I have a yellow Post-It glued to me. It reads “You. Me. The gym. Tomorrow.”
2:08 a.m: My woman is asleep atop the sheets, naked and in more or less the same pose as Marilyn Monroe in those famous nude photos. Her body actually looks a lot like the younger Marilyn’s, prior to drugs and Kennedys. My penis wants her, but my head is too tired.
10 a.m: Saturday mornings are great, no hurry. We have sex. She’s got moves I’ve never experienced with another woman.
11:20 a.m: She has not forgotten about the gym. “We’ve got to do something about your energy levels,” she says. Not for the first time I wonder how someone so feminine can be so firm.
12:15 p.m: The gym. She holds the punching bag while I hit it and I am sure every man in the gym wants to be me.
12:30 p.m: She’s lying on the gym floor holding her face. Unclear whether the punching bag knocked her over, or if I hit her. Either way I am mortified. Every man in the gym is grateful he isn’t me.
12:34 p.m: I apologize for the millionth time. “Baby, you know I can take a pummeling,” she replies. Every man in the gym wants to be me.
8:30 p.m: Dinner with friends when her best friend tells her she is the only woman in the world who looks sexy with a bruised eye. I’m glad he’s gay and sorry I didn’t say it before he did.
11:55 p.m: On our way home I ask her if she ever fantasizes about anyone else when we’re having sex. A while back she yelled her ex’s name and I have been wondering since. She says no, “I don’t think at all during sex. I just enjoy being in the moment.”
12:15 a.m: At home and in bed. I wish I had her ability to enjoy being in the moment. She comes repeatedly and effortlessly. I have to work for it.
11 a.m: I can’t believe I’ve slept this long. She’s up, doing yoga on the bedroom floor. I admire her body in all those weird positions.
11:40 a.m: She’s done with her workout, strips off her clothes, and offers to return to bed. I say I am hungry for brunch. She sighs and says she has to shower.
11:45 a.m: We shower together, no sex. From prior attempts I know it’s hard to find a good standing position because I’m so much larger than her.
12:15 p.m: Choosing pastrami over pussy, am I crazy? I don’t think so. Sex I can have every day of the week, but we only ever go to the deli on Sundays.
12:16 p.m: I hope I didn’t say that out loud. She occasionally exhausts me, but I do appreciate her sexual capacity. With my former girlfriends it used to be more of a hassle, and I’ve gotten complaints for being too big as well as taking too long.
4:20 p.m: We’re in the park reading when she leans in and kisses me, saying “You’re a good man” before returning to her book. Philip Roth. Explains why she felt the need to say that.
6:44 p.m: Her ex calls. I can hear it’s him from the way she answers. Of all the men from her past, this is the only one I am jealous of. I walk away from her in a sullen mood.
7:03 p.m: She is done talking and finally follows me. “If I wanted to be with him I would have been. I am with you because I want to be,” she says, and I kiss her.
8:15 p.m: Chinese takeout at home, just the two of us. I love spending time alone with her.
9:10 p.m: Making out.
9:50 p.m: I carry her to bed and make love to her. I know she likes it when I take the lead, but she’s usually too impatient to wait for it.
9 a.m: Ah, Memorial Day. She opens it with a memorable maneuver.
2:30 p.m: She takes me to Chinatown for green-tea and red-bean ice cream. Honey, you’re sweet, but ice cream is supposed to be sweeter than this.
3 p.m: Taking a walk, her black eye hidden behind sunglasses. Fleet Week is on. Sailors flirt with her without caring she is with me. One even asks for a kiss. She gives him a quick peck on the cheek, saying, “I’m too old for this shit,” while looking approximately 25.
8 p.m: Dinner with her family uptown. Her family members appear to be serial daters, as I haven’t seen them with the same dates twice.
10:45 p.m: In the cab back home I comment on her family’s parades of partners. She laughingly replies, “Variety is the spice of life.” “Monogamy is the meat of life,” I say, immediately realizing this is a bad choice of metaphor. I wonder how long she’ll be content being monogamous. She had plenty of lovers before me.
11:05 p.m: I go down on her, then do her doggy-style. She loves doggy-style. Though I have yet to discover a position she doesn’t love.
TOTALS: Approximately nine acts of intercourse, two acts of oral sex, three acts of cuddling and/or making out, one bruised eye, and one instance of eavesdropping on girlfriend’s self-love session.